


marital/martial

by lacquer



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Complicated Relationships, F/F, Friends to Friends With Benefits to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Non-Linear Narrative, Sparring, The Drift (Pacific Rim), the ways you choose to be tender in the face of grief are what matter actually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25030393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacquer/pseuds/lacquer
Summary: Here is the landscape of grief in her body. Seokmin traces one hand down Minghao’s side. There’s a patch of colder skin right over her ribs, where the kaiju blue had burned out her nerve endings.This is the way history leaves its mark,Seokmin thinks, leaning down to kiss her skin, even if Minghao can’t feel the gesture.We feel it in the absences.Drifting is about trust. It’s about fear, too.
Relationships: Lee Seokmin | DK/Xu Ming Hao | The8, Wen Jun Hui | Jun & Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26
Collections: Enduring Dawn Round 1





	marital/martial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earthshaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthshaker/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY DIA, thank you for holding my hand through writing (even if i didn't finish in time to send you the draft), love you <3
> 
> thank you to the mods for being incredibly gracious with this schedule and for all the hard work they've put in!!
> 
> if you've never seen pacific rim here are the basics: kaiju are alien monsters that come out of the pacific ocean, and humanity develops giant robots (jaegers) to fight them. kaiju blue is the slang term for kaiju blood, which is toxic. i think everything else is explained in-text, but you still might want to look up the movie.
> 
> i've moved around some of the kaiju attacks, so if you see anything inconsistent with the movie, that's why.
> 
> see end notes for more content warnings.

_“What are we doing here, and why are our hearts invisible?"_

_-_ Anne Carson, “Kinds of Water”

When Minghao thinks of how it began, she’s never sure what is her own memory, and what is Junhui’s, Seokmin’s. Recollection falls like seawater between her fingers. History a common ocean, bordered by separate shores.

If she was asked though, she would say that the beginning unfolded something like this:

_When Trespasser barges into San Francisco, two thousand fucking tons of Kaiju, it’s a disaster zone in motion. Six days into its sweep through the Bay Area, the military resorts to tactical nuclear missiles to destroy it. Casualty reports published later put the number of deaths caused by radiation at roughly three times any of those caused by Trespasser itself._

_It is only the first of many monsters that emerge from beneath the Pacific._

_When Minghao first hears about Trespasser, she calls Seokmin. Seokmin picks up from within a closet somewhere in Yongin-si, shaking harder than a leaf in a windstorm. Minghao can hear the rattling across the tinny phone line, so strong it sounds like the prelude to an earthquake._

_They don’t say much, but when Minghao asks, “Are you alright?”, Seokmin’s breath hitches. Seokmin’s grandparents live in California; she visits them every summer._

_“I’m scared, Minghao.” After three years of studying abroad, Minghao’s name is delicate on her tongue._

_“It’s ok. I’m here.” Minghao puts her forehead to her knees. “Just stay on the line.”_

_Kaiceph steamrolls its way through half of Anshan without a second glance. It doesn’t even look towards Beijing, just plows up through Liaodong Bay single-minded, as if with a grudge. In its wake, it leaves burning, three-clawed footprints._

_When the military finally brings it down, six miles south of her house, Minghao swears she can feel the aftershocks for hours._

_That night, Kaiju blood slicks the tops of every river, so blue it makes the fog glow. The air burns to breathe._

_In the crematorium, fire takes on a life of its own. It burns. It roars. It devours._

_Minghao watches her father's body disappear into a blue so pure it looks like a summer sky caught ablaze. In the last moments before the cremator's door closes, Minghao sees it punch through the cardboard coffin. Bloody shadows spill over the floor._

_It is a long, long moment before she can turn away._

_Six months after Anshan, Brawler Yukon takes down a Kaiju, code named Karloff, marking the first Kaiju killed without nuclear weapons. Six months after that, the PPDC announces the opening of the Jaeger Academy._

**_2018_ **

Twelve hours after Minghao touches down in Hong Kong, Seokmin finds her in the Kwoon Room.

Minghao isn’t surprised, not really. Seokmin has always known where to find her. Proximity works like magnetism between them; Minghao could upend the globe and still end up at Seokmin’s feet.

This late at night, the Kwoon Room is strung together with pale humming shadows—fluorescent lights, summoning ghosts. Minghao works her way through staff forms beneath them, exercises that are more meditative than actually useful.

There’s something simple about the stretch and burn of muscle, familiar when nothing else is. Right now, she could use some familiarity.

Junhui had curled his hand around the nape of her neck the night before he left for Nagasaki—knocked their foreheads together gently. He hadn’t said much, not when the drift still hung between them, buzzing behind Minghao’s teeth like tethered lightning.

“It’s not too late to come with me,” he hadn’t said.

“It’s not your fault,” he hadn’t said.

“It’s ok,” he hadn’t said.

Minghao had exhaled through her nose and closed her eyes. “Go and see him, Junhui. I’ll be fine.”

“Call me,” Junhui had replied in his own peculiar way, a demand twisted so sweetly it became a truth. Minghao would call him.

And she will. Just not yet.

She doesn’t see Seokmin at first, hidden as she is in the doorway of the Kwoon Room. The staff spins between her hands like a prayer. Warm wood hits her palms as she runs through forms like water, a meditation on leashed violence. When she has nothing else, she has this—the way her body moves in perfect lines and angles. Momentum and purpose. Carry it though. Keep moving.

When they were in the academy, the Fightmaster, Soonyoung, had run them through these drills until Minghao had thought she might puke. _It isn’t enough to know them_ , Soonyoung had said. _They must be habit. Reflex. You cannot flinch._

Minghao has built her life around not flinching. The staff sings through the air as she runs through form after form. For a long, weightless moment, she nearly takes flight.

And then, midway through an extension of her left arm, reality makes itself known. Pain fractures up her side, starting from her ribs and snapping all the way down to her fingertips. Minghao hears her staff clatter to the ground as she trips, hits the mats—

Flinches.

The impact of her body weight onto her left palm hurts so much it is nearly numb. Her vision whites out. For a moment she cannot feel her left side at all as she crumples to the floor.

A body in motion wants to stay in motion. She hisses air between her teeth and moves to get up.

And that is when she sees her. Seokmin stands in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot. Her hair is pulled back, a few flyaway strands still kissing her ears. She’s wearing a tank top that bares her strong shoulders. A bag of some sort sits at her feet.

Seokmin hesitates for only a moment before running over to her side. “Minghao,” her name in Seokmin’s mouth. Her hands on Minghao’s arm. Her, her, her.

For a moment, Minghao can’t breathe at the sight. Even after months, the littlest gesture leaves her breathless, as if the air in her lungs longs to be near Seokmin too.

In the months they were apart, Minghao had tried to keep the memory of her close. Rolled it between her palms and tangled it around her fingers. But memory could never compare to the woman in front of her now, her tense mouth and tender hands.

“Seokmin,” she says. Familiar.

“Are you ok?” Seokmin pulls her up like Minghao weighs nothing, stepping away the moment she’s steady. Minghao misses her hand as soon as she lets go—the distance between them aches.

Minghao shakes her head and winces when her neck cracks. “I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to work out,” Seokmin says. Plain and simple. “Do you need me to help you to the infirmary?” Frost creeps across her expression, freezing her features into an approximation of calm. It’s as thin as a skin of river ice but Minghao doesn’t press. She’s not sure she could swim, if she fell in.

“Don’t worry.” Minghao bends down to pick up her staff—and hisses as needles jam into her tendons. Now that she’s not actively ignoring it, she can feel pain radiating through her shoulder, out from the rotator cuff. It cuts off in places; there’s a whole plane of numbness from her left armpit to the bottom of her ribs. “It’s not that bad.”

The look Seokmin sends her is not convinced. Minghao isn’t quite sure she wants her to be, either. 

“Not that bad?” For a second Seokmin’s mask cracks straight down the middle. She looks wounded, almost. The raw underbelly of some emotion Minghao doesn’t want to understand. Does anyway. “You just collapsed. That’s…” She trails off, mouth flattened into an obstinate line.

“There’s nothing you can do about it,” Minghao says. It comes out of her mouth far bitterer than she intends. She doesn’t like being the type of person who would say that to Seokmin, the type of person who presses on open wounds. She can’t take the words back, though. “It’s too late for that.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t take care of yourself now,” Seokmin returns. The set of her shoulders is mulish. “You aren’t even planning on going to sleep, are you?”

Minghao remains carefully silent.

“Of course not,” Seokmin says. Her voice wobbles around the vowels. “You can never take a break, can you?”

It’s true. Minghao pushes herself hard, runs on single digits of sleep and k-tape and bullheaded determination. The harder you work, the luckier you are, and Minghao needs all the luck she can get. Lately though, she’s noticed something changing.

Not just the way the left side of her body feels like tenderized meat on a good day. It’s the way her joints have started to protest in the mornings. She can tell when it’s going to rain by the pressure behind her eyes. Slowly, the wellspring of her youth is drying up. Minghao is used to pushing, pushing, pushing, with nothing snapping back, as if her body were an endless book of miracles. It’s all starting to circle back around.

“It’s not like taking a break will do much good,” Minghao says, but even to herself, the words sound weak.

Seokmin’s hands had balled themselves into fists when Minghao wasn’t looking. Minghao’s jaw aches for a second, ghost-like. “Fine then.” She narrows her eyes at Minghao. “If you won’t take a break, spar with me.”

**_2015_ **

The interview room is freezing. Minghao isn’t sure whether it’s deliberate or not, but she’s shivering. It was an hours long flight from Anshan to Hong Kong, and the air outside is heavy on her tongue, thick like it’s fighting her lungs.

Minghao had put on a set of slacks and a blouse for the interview and sweated every step outside of the MTR to get here. Now she wishes she had brought a jacket.

The interviewer keeps reading over her application, angled so that Minghao can’t see it. When she looks up, Minghao meets her eyes. Doesn’t back down.

The other woman tucks the paper away. “Why are you here, Xu Minghao?” She doesn’t ask about the resume that Minghao had nearly torn her hair out over, or the three pages of personal questions she filled out just to get into this room. She has a flat look, light off concrete. _There’re another twelve candidates outside, waiting for their turn_ , that look says. _Don’t waste my time._ The Pan Pacific Defense Corps had put out an open call for pilot candidates only a month ago and already they had applicants in the hundreds.

“Because I want to help,” Minghao says. She curls her fists beneath the table. “I need to help.”

“Everyone wants to be a pilot,” the interviewer says. “How do we know you’ll make the cut?”

Minghao swallows down glass. “Because I’ll put in the work. I’ll do anything.”

The interviewer pauses for a second. Writes something down. “Ok. Next question.”

_**2018** _

It’s been a while since Minghao has sparred against Seokmin. Almost six months, since they last faced each other. Six months since they last talked, too.

There’s no one here to officiate; that’s ok though. Minghao is planning on going easy on her. She remembers how sparring against Seokmin goes. Or rather, doesn’t.

“Ready?” Seokmin asks her, standing on the other side of the mats. There’s a nearly imperceptible strangeness to the way she settles into a ready stance but Minghao ignores it.

Despite what she told Seokmin, she does want to stay here much longer. Her hands are on the verge of trembling. Not yet, because Minghao has some control of herself, but almost. One round is probably all she’ll be good for.

“Ready.”

Seokmin doesn’t attack right away. Minghao watches her shoulders for any sign of movement as they begin to circle each other. The mats are warm beneath her feet.

Just to test the waters, Minghao fakes a strike towards Seokmin’s shoulder. She pulls back at the last second and darts away. Seokmin doesn’t fall for it, just narrows her eyes.

A shiver of unease snakes up her spine. Minghao keeps her breathing light and even as she and Seokmin circle each other beneath the Kwoon Room’s pale lights. They buzz, sound dancing around the tips of Minghao’s ears.

“How have you been?” Minghao asks. She is lungless at the slant of Seokmin’s mouth, which is tense with frustration and another emotion she can’t quite name. She isn’t used to asking these questions, when the answers used to be so obvious. There had been a time when conversation was a river between them, love on both banks.

Seokmin’s expressive eyes darken. Minghao isn’t watching her body language anymore, which is a mistake. Her staff sweeps towards Minghao’s hip as she lunges. Minghao barely dodges. For a split second, Seokmin overextends, and Minghao tries to strike back and sweep her feet out from underneath her.

Seokmin hops over her staff and strikes back, a flurry of blows that rattle up Minghao’s arms as she blocks them. The clack of wood on wood staccatos against the concrete walls.

“I’ve been just fine,” Seokmin says, apropos of nothing. Minghao sucks in a lungful of air and braces herself against another strike and the encroaching ache in her shoulder. Her left arm is sparking now, flares of pain making her waver.

“That’s good,” Minghao returns flimsily. She’s not paying much attention to the conversation, instead focusing on the fight.

And… there.

Just as Seokmin’s staff whistles towards her left side, Minghao pivots out of the way and sends a blow towards her unprotected shoulder. Halfway through the strike she pulls it, convinced that it will land, but before it can, Seokmin’s staff comes between them again. They impact and Minghao’s left hand spasms.

A surprised noise escapes into the space between them, though which of them voiced it, Minghao couldn’t say.

She falls back a second, focused on defending herself more than attacking. It’s clear now that this is Seokmin’s fight. Had been from the beginning. Minghao was a fool to consider taking it easy.

Seokmin backs her up to the corner of the mats and, when Minghao makes one more attempt to dodge out of the way, takes her feet out from underneath her.

Just like that, Minghao is flat on her back, staring at the ceiling. Her head feels heavy, exhaustion like dull needles behind her eyes. Seokmin’s staff presses a bright weight at her throat. “I yield.”

Seokmin puts her staff to the side. She’s straddling Minghao, strong thighs bracketing her hips. Part of her hair had come undone as they fell to the ground, and it falls awkwardly over one of her ears. Minghao’s fingers itch with the urge to push it back.

When Seokmin speaks, her voice is heavy. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“Haven’t I?” Minghao asks, because she has.

Seokmin looks down at her and moves to get up. “Maybe you have. But you still don’t trust me. You still won’t take me seriously.”

Before Seokmin can move away, Minghao gets an arm beneath herself and flips them over. Seokmin’s back is the one to hit the mats this time. “I trust you Lee Seokmin.”

“Not when it matters. You don’t trust me to be good enough, to fight you on even terms, Xu Minghao.” It would have been kinder, perhaps, if Seokmin said her name less sweetly. Her voice shards itself in Minghao’s heart like breaking glass.

“That’s not it,” Minghao says.

“Then what is it?” Acceptance bleeds towards resignation in Seokmin’s body. The fight sweeps out of her like low tide. She lets her head hit the mats, staring up at Minghao with tired eyes. “Because I’m not seeing anything else.”

Without thinking about it, Minghao’s hands curl over Seokmin’s shoulders, hard enough to bruise. It takes a second for her to notice what she’s doing, and when she does, Seokmin glares at her. Daring her to let go. Minghao's body flinches back. “It’s…” She trails off.

Seokmin doesn’t wait for her. With a twist, she gets free of Minghao’s hands and levers herself to her feet. Minghao sits on the ground, exhaustion grinding itself into her bones, and doesn’t move.

For a second, Minghao thinks Seokmin will leave entirely, but instead, she offers a hand up. Her face is still cold and Minghao almost wishes she couldn’t read her. (Only almost, because Minghao has never, will never regret knowing Seokmin.)

The set of her eyebrows— _tired._ The crease of her mouth— _worried._ The angle of her chin— _pretending she’s fine._ It works the other way around too. What is Seokmin reading from her?

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, but at least get something to eat. You look like you need it,” Seokmin says, and its so kind that Minghao can only blink. Kindness all the more disorienting for it being unexpected. And yet, that is Seokmin. Show her a storm, and the sun still shines through.

Minghao tips her head forward and takes a deep breath. Her arm aches dull and red. Her fingers are trembling. She takes Seokmin’s hand.

_**2015** _

It takes three international flights for Minghao to get from Tianjin to Kodiak, stumbling over timezones and curbsides and every single unfamiliar face between. She glues herself to her phone, texting Seokmin the minute her last plane touches down.

Seokmin, already living in the Academy, texts her back immediately, a string of excited emojis accompanying Minghao through customs, all the way out to baggage claim.

The PPDC officer in charge of new cadets meets her there and she gets shuffled on to a bus with the rest of the international arrivals. There had been no one else selected from her region, so Minghao had traveled alone to Alaska. Her mother had sent her off with a tired hug and a promise to call soon. Now she sits among a bus of arrivals, tired chatter in a dozen languages swimming through the air.

Minghao, so tired it feels like her joints have been replaced by gravel, passes out in the first fifteen minutes, only barely remembering to text Seokmin before closing her eyes.

She doesn’t wake until the bus rattles to a stop in front of the Academy. The gaggle of cadets spills out of the bus and breaks off into groups, hustled into a building that Minghao assumes is a dormitory.

It is a dorm, as Minghao finds out. Plaster walls and the PPDC’s eagle crest emblazoned on every available surface. The cadets mill around a small lobby, a dozen suitcases in a dozen colors scattered about like strange furniture blown in by an evening storm.

They wait a while longer before eventually another officer comes by to give them packets of introductory paperwork and keys and they are finally, _finally_ sent to their new rooms.

Minghao sets down her suitcases in a small double, the whole thing so new she can still smell the paint. She meets her roommate, a compact girl named Chan. She unpacks her clothes before sleeping. She takes a shower.

But it’s not until Seokmin runs into the room and sweeps her in a hug, that she finally feels at home.

“I’m glad you made it,” she hears from the region of her shoulder. Seokmin’s voice is muffled into her t-shirt, sound felt as well as heard.

“Like I could do anything else,” Minghao replies.

They fall asleep in the same bed that night, curled together beneath the blankets, and Seokmin’s breathing lulls her to sleep. She doesn’t dream.

Seokmin shows her around the base the next week, between orientation sessions. They visit the cafeteria (“Keep an eye out Wednesdays, that’s when they have fresh fruit.”), the training hall (“Don’t worry too much about catching up, we were all waiting for your group anyway.”), all the way down to a basement pool (“Officially, we only use the pool for swimming and water survival training. It’s kept locked, but everyone knows the pin on the door.”).

Minghao never has the chance to feel unsteady, not when Seokmin is by her side.

The other woman has only been here two months, but already it feels like she knows everyone. Seokmin makes friends easily—loves and loves to be loved in equal measure. It's a feeling reflected wherever she goes. The hallways of the academy light up underneath her smile, people leaning towards her like flowers towards the sun.

Minghao used to be just like them. Still is, in fact.

The only difference between her and all the rest is that she knows what Seokmin keeps hidden behind her smile. Her heart is a generous and shy thing, kept tucked away even as it spills over enough sunlight to power a small city.

It’s not that Seokmin doesn’t like these people—adore them, even—it’s that uncertainty has made a home in her habits, trust held close and tight. It's an entirely different wall, one they'll never know they're climbing until they're atop it.

Slowly, Minghao picks out who among the other cadets might make it over. Chwe Hansol, a girl with lazy eyes and quick hands. Yoon Jeonghan, a man who smiles beautifully and with an edge, not unlike a predatory animal.

Surprisingly, Minghao’s roommate is up for consideration too. She takes a second glance at Seokmin when she catches her fond gaze, but no, she was right. Apparently Lee Chan has hidden depths.

The grace period doesn’t last long. As soon as the new cadets are settled, real training begins.

The long summer turns to winter, the earth’s axis spinning until the sun abandons them. Daylight reduces to a handful of hours. Winter starts to brew storms.

_**2018** _

The Hong Kong Shatterdome in high summer is humid. Humid humid, the kind of thing that sticks to the backs of Minghao’s knees, plasters her hair to her scalp. Even this late at night she can feel it, the way the air is alive with water. The way the ocean loves the shore.

Seokmin’s dorm room is a dark and windowless thing, but as she flips on the lights it hums gold. The ceiling is strung with a series of old incandescent bulbs, glowing like fireflies that had swallowed the sun. “Sit down,” she says. “Sorry it’s a mess— I’ll be right back.”

Minghao sits down on her bed. The sheets are a mess, as is the small desk in the room. The desk chair is completely occupied by a stack of Jaeger print-outs. Seokmin’s natural state is expansive, clothes left in piles around them, a life lived in constant motion.

She doesn’t have to wait long before Seokmin returns, a small box under one arm. “Mandarins,” she says, at Minghao’s questioning glance. “Snuck them out of the cafeteria.”

The cafeteria staff probably saw her and let go anyway, Minghao thinks. Minghao would do the same in their place. Seokmin isn’t subtle, but she is nearly irresistible, a box of citrus fruit is nothing compared to her smile.

“Are they in season?” Minghao asks.

Seokmin shrugs. “Who knows, with rationing nothing ever is.” She pushes her hair over her shoulder. “Sorry I couldn’t get anything else. I don’t know about you, but I will die if I have something hot right now,” she says. It’s a joke, almost. Sweat marks a trail down her neck. Minghao wants to lick it.

“Fair enough,” Minghao returns, because it’s easier than saying anything else right now.

They sit in silence for nearly a minute, Seokmin handing a fruit to Minghao before peeling open one of her own. Minghao opens hers like a meditation, focusing on taking the peel off in one long strip. Even now she can’t stop looking at Seokmin, watching her fingers. Watching her face.

Seokmin is the one to break the quiet. Of the two of them, she’s always been worse about sitting with silence. “Are you going to be here long?”

Minghao tips her hand from side to side. “However long it takes for the situation with Titan Pacific to be sorted. Junhui’s in Nagasaki until then, so I won’t be doing much. What about you?”

The sweep of Seokmin’s hair hides her expression for a second as she gets up, throwing her peels in the trash can. When she sits back down, she doesn’t look Minghao’s way. “I’ll be here until they find me a partner at least. The trials start next week, 0800 sharp. Seungcheol finally got them to clear the mark from my record.” She tightens her fingers around her peeled fruit. “It helped that you spoke to them in my favor.”

“Of course,” Minghao says. “It’s not like I could do anything else. It wasn’t your fault.” She doesn’t comment on the trials.

Seokmin eyes her sidelong and laughs, just a little disbelieving. “Minghao, I punched you in the face.”

“We were sparring,” Minghao says, steadfast. “They shouldn’t have suspended you for that.” _I could see it coming,_ she doesn’t say. _I didn’t dodge._

“You—” Seokmin cuts herself off. She breaks off part of her mandarin and offers it to Minghao. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m always worrying about you,” Minghao says. A deep and familiar ache curls itself through her fingertips. The urge to reach out and touch Seokmin’s arm, as if skin could convey all the words she finds herself without.

She takes the offered fruit and bites down. It’s the smallest burst of citrus, sweet-tart and so good it makes her tongue curl.

Seokmin pops a slice of her own into her mouth. Minghao can read the hurt prickling down her spine like thorns, but she can’t push past the brambles to see the reasoning within. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“It’s not like I can help it?” Minghao says, and it’s almost a question. She finishes with her peel and tosses it at the garbage can. The shot makes it.

Seokmin stands abruptly and Minghao mirrors her, peeled fruit cupped in one hand. “I guess you can’t,” Seokmin says. She swallows around nothing and hands Minghao the box of mandarins. “Eat something. I’ll see you around the Shatterdome.”

Minghao takes the box and blinks at her. It’s clearly a dismissal. A kind one, but a dismissal. Abruptly, she feels unmoored, miles out in open ocean, all harbors closed. “Ok. I’ll see you around, Seokmin.” She closes the door behind her.

This late, the Shatterdome is operating on a skeleton crew. Minghao makes her way back to her room slowly, nodding at the people she passes, a box of citrus fruit cradled to her chest.

_**2015** _

“I’m going to die,” Seokmin says, face down in a common room. In front of her is spread half of a manual on Jaeger cooling systems, and at her feet is her training gear all in a bag. “No need to wait for a Kaiju, Officer Wu’s assignments are going to get there first.”

Minghao is sitting in a chair nearby, another copy of the manual open on her knees. It has a veritable ocean of blue ink in its margins, hanzi written down where English fails her.

She reaches down to nudge Seokmin with her foot and winces at the pull on her aching hamstring. “Shhh. She can probably hear you.”

Seokmin groans and rolls over, pulling the papers over her face. “Don’t say that. I think I lost a year off of my life when she pulled that surprise inspection yesterday.”

Outside the window, a storm has been brewing for hours in the dark. Minghao catches flashes of white occasionally as snow whips past the glass. The wind howls strangely this far north, keening off the edges of the dorm building like a hungry ghost. Minghao’s not quite sure what time it is right now—the sun had set hours ago, but this deep in winter, daylight means nothing.

“At least you had your room ready,” Minghao laughs. “It could have been worse, you could have been Hansol.”

She can see Seokmin spare a thought for Hansol, who is currently slogging through a cleaning assignment on the floor above them. The PPDC runs itself with military precision. Surprise room inspections are part and parcel for the time they’re spending here. “You’ll save me next time, right?” Seokmin peeks out from behind her papers to shoot Minghao a pleading look.

“Sure,” Minghao says, turning another page in her manual. She only has half of her attention on the text, but it’s enough to file the information away for later review. “For you, I’ll face down Officer Wu.”

Seokmin makes a pleased noise, and finally sits up, pulling the manual together and fastening it with a binder clip. “I’m going to go get some sleep before conditioning tomorrow. You coming?”

Four nights out of seven Minghao has taken her up on the offer, the two of them sleeping so close they sculpt another body out of intimacy. Chan likes to joke that she has a single, when her roommate is never there.

Tonight though, there’s something twisting in the pit of her stomach like acid, and she’s too restless to sleep. “I’m going back to the Kwoon Room, actually.”

Seokmin tilts her head. “Do you want me to come with you?” The statement is punctuated with a yawn and Minghao shakes her head.

“Go sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Drooping eyes, tired grin. Seokmin turns away.

Minghao sits for a moment longer, staring at the snow falling outside. Then she heads down to the lobby. When she gets to the door, snow has already piled up past her ankles. The academy is not too far from the dorms. Minghao pulls on a coat, opens the door, and runs into the storm.

When she gets to the Kwoon Room, she takes a deep breath, trying to breath life back into her fingers. It’s empty at this time of night. Half the lights are turned off, casting strange shadows over the rows of mats lining the floor, everything smothered and inarticulate.

Any noise she makes in the stillness seems momentous. Minghao tries to shake the feeling off and unzips her coat, getting out a staff.

She isn’t sure how long she spends going through drills, only that it is long enough for her to fall completely into that singular focus, mind turned towards those perfect angles, before something interrupts her.

A sudden voice at the doorway. “Minghao?” Involuntarily, Minghao looks up at the tail end of a form and drops her staff.

Seokmin is standing in the doorway, dressed down in sleeping clothes. In her hand is Minghao’s training bag.

Oh. She had forgotten it in the dorm, hadn’t she. Slowly, Minghao becomes aware of the fact that her hands are aching, fingers locked into claws.

“Are you—” Seokmin starts. Her teeth snap together when Minghao shakes her head. 

“What are you doing here?" Minghao asks.

“I'm here to give you this.” Seokmin waves the bag and walks forwards. "Can I see?" Wordlessly, Minghao offers her hands. Seokmin hold them close, thumbs pressed to the delicate skin of her wrists.

On second glance, Minghao thinks they look ok, if tightly curled. They feel however, like brittle leather. Like straightening them out would snap her tendons. Seokmin hisses low, sympathy the sound of rushing water. “What are you doing?”

“I…” Minghao trails off. “I just got distracted, I guess.” 

“It’s late,” Seokmin says. “Let’s go back to the dorm.” She lets go of Minghao’s hands and wraps an arm around her shoulders. Minghao picks up her staff, leaning into the weight of Seokmin by her side. She doesn’t need the support, but she also knows that’s not why Seokmin is clinging.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you,” Minghao says, because that’s the only thing she can think of to say to the look on Seokmin’s face.

“It’s fine,” Seokmin says. It clearly isn’t, but Minghao isn’t sure what to say otherwise. “Let’s go back and go to sleep.”

Minghao nods.

They walk together out of the training hall, to the dorms, and up the stairs to her room. Seokmin lives in a single; her roommate had been one of the cadets to resign early.

Minghao is currently a mess of sweaty hair and post-workout fugue, and she knows if she goes to sleep right now she’ll hate herself in the morning. With that in mind, she drops her bag by Seokmin’s bed and waves. “I’ll be back, got to shower.”

Seokmin jumps up onto her bed and nods. “Take your time.” The end of her phrase tapers off strangely, but Minghao is too tired to figure out what it means.

Ten minutes later she feels more human stepping out from underneath pouring water. She’s still toweling off her hair as she steps into Seokmin’s room again, sleep held syrupy beneath her tongue.

Seokmin is lying on her bed and sits up when Minghao gets near. Minghao waves at her with a yawn, and slides beneath the covers after she turns off the light. She nudges Seokmin’s shin with her foot, just to feel the comfort of her pushing back.

Her hands settle in the space between them, and Seokmin takes them with a furrowed expression. The shower had helped loosen them up some, and as Seokmin runs her hands over the tendons there, they relax even more.

The light coming in through the window is faint as moonlight deep beneath the ocean. It’s enough that Minghao can make out Seokmin’s face, and the way she’s biting her lip, eyes flickering like candles.

“What is it?” Minghao says. Her words are quiet, rounded at the edges.

“Nothing,” Seokmin says, “go to sleep.”

Minghao huffs out a breath. Outside the dorm, the wind keens off the building. She can’t quite help the way her heart twinges at that. It sounds lonely.

Seokmin sighs next to her and Minghao tries to relax. Slowly, she closes her eyes.

_Seokmin is woken half an hour later by Minghao rolling over. When she opens her eyes, she yawns. Through the snow outside, streetlight filters into her room, covering them both with sheets of textured darkness._

_“Minghao?” She yawns again halfway through the name._

_Minghao turns back over, rustling the sheets. What little Seokmin can see of her is tense. When Seokmin places a hand on her shoulder, it nearly hums, like a wire held taut._

_“Go back to sleep,” Minghao whispers. “I’ll be fine.”_

_“Are you going to sleep?” Seokmin asks._

_Minghao shakes her head. “I just can’t relax, sorry.” Seokmin reaches out and Minghao reaches back, pulling Seokmin’s hands up to rest on her forehead. “Don’t worry about it.”_

_There, between her words, Seokmin can read entire chapters of exhaustion. She laughs a little to diffuse the tension. “I’m always worrying about you, Minghao. You’re always pushing yourself. Someday I’m worried you’ll break.”_

_Minghao blinks at her, long and slow. Seokmin knows what she’ll say next, something determined and well-meant, and entirely beside the point. Seokmin doesn’t let her. She rolls over top of Minghao, letting her body weight press the other woman into the mattress. Minghao takes a short breath of surprise, hands coming up to hold Seokmin’s arms. She doesn’t push her away._

_Normally of the two of them, Minghao is the more physical—or at least the more deliberate with touch. She reaches out as if emotion could be conveyed through the press of her fingertips, or the way her arm settles around Seokmin’s shoulders._

_Maybe, Seokmin needs to say something in a language she’ll understand._

_She leans down, close enough that her next words brush over Minghao’s lips. “Let me take care of you for once.”_

_Minghao’s eyes are dark and liquid, wide as a full moon. One of her hands comes up to cradle Seokmin’s cheek, delicate and so fond it makes Seokmin ache. It is as easy as breathing to lean down and kiss her._

_Despite every intention in Seokmin’s body, Minghao still takes a breath of surprise as Seokmin’s lips brush hers, soft. Soft, because Minghao needs something soft here, in a place full of hard edges. Soft, because Seokmin could give her no other gesture. Soft, because if there is a place for Minghao to fall, Seokmin wants it to be with her._

_She pulls back for a second, just far enough to Minghao’s eyes which are impossibly darker. “Ok?”_

_Minghao reaches up, brushing aside a stray piece of Seokmin’s hair. A flame kindles itself in Seokmin’s stomach, full of a hungry light. “More than ok.”_

_And really, what can Seokmin do at that except kiss her again? They trade lazy kisses in the dark, one of Seokmin’s thumbs brushing over Minghao’s cheekbones._

_Slowly, the tension bleeds from Minghao’s body until she’s nearly melted beneath Seokmin’s wandering hands, a different sort of tension through her body. Seokmin presses soft kisses to her collarbones, flicks a tongue over one of her nipples, and tries to drink her in, press this time into the pages of her memory. If this is the only chance Seokmin has to— Well._

_This is Minghao, gasping softly at the press of Seokmin’s tongue. This is Minghao, hand in Seokmin’s hair. This is Minghao, canting her hips like she can’t help it, fingers still gentle gentle gentle at the back of Seokmin’s head._

_This too is Minghao, the way she calls Seokmin’s name when she comes. Like a prayer for which no words exist._

_Seokmin pulls herself back up and kisses the syllables out of Minghao’s mouth. This is for Minghao, she thinks to herself._

_The thought shouldn’t feel so selfish._

_**2018** _

The Shatterdome echoes in the morning. The compound is made of concrete, sound fracturing off its walls. Every room rings with metalsong—the voice of a house of Jaegers. Minghao wakes to a humming behind her eyes, as if someone had electrified her bones.

There’s a box of mandarins next to her bed, and she grabs a few as she steps out the door to her room, just to test a theory. Sure enough, when she gets to the cafeteria, they’re not serving any fresh fruit, only a small buffet of breakfast foods and some tea. Minghao looks around the cafeteria, picks up a paper cup of tea, and gets out of there.

She floats around the Shatterdome all day, feeling particularly transparent. She’s technically still on medical leave, same as Junhui, and until she's cleared, Hong Kong has no work for her.

Minghao, who has always translated stress into action, chafes.

Afternoon finds her with her legs slung through the bars of a catwalk, high above Hong Kong’s latest Jaeger in progress. It’s still being constructed, a line of workers wiring something into place in its arm, sending cascades of sparks down to the floor. They look like nothing so much as falling stars.

She hasn’t been up there for more than half an hour before someone finds her.

“So here’s where you went,” comes a voice from behind her, delighted. The words are in Korean, an unexpected language for Hong Kong to offer.

Minghao turns her head. Kwon Soonyoung is standing on the catwalk, a grin creeping over her face. Her hair is still dyed blonde, pulled up in a high ponytail. The Fightmaster's hands are grease stained and she’s wearing black boots, dog tags glinting silver at her breast.

“Soonyoung-ssi?” Minghao asks, name escaping her in a rush. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s my question,” Soonyoung says, swinging herself down next to Minghao, throwing her legs out through the bars. Her feet dangle over the wide open air like she’s never been afraid of anything. “You didn’t tell anyone that you were coming, Minghao. I had to find out from Seokminnie.”

Seokmin still talks about her? Minghao’s eager heart takes wing. And then she registers the rest of Soonyoung’s words. “It was kind of a last minute decision, sorry.”

Soonyoung just smiles at her. “You can make it up to me, don’t worry. Tell me how you’ve been. Is Junhui doing ok?”

“He’s fine,” Minghao says. Her phone is tucked into her back pocket, still on silent. She hasn’t called Junhui yet; it’s the longest she’s gone without talking to him since they became partners. “He’s in Nagasaki until Titan Pacific finishes with repairs. How have you been?”

Soonyoung kicks her feet. She’s a hurricane in human skin, always has been, and time has tempered her not at all. “I’ve been ok. I haven’t been here for long, but the assignment is set to last for another few months at the very least.”

“Are you settling in all right?” Minghao asks.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Soonyoung says. She takes a deep breath. “I heard about what happened to Titan Pacific. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Minghao says. She’s had enough apologies made to her—by her—these past few weeks, that they feel practically useless. “It’s not like you could have done anything.”

“I’m still sorry,” Soonyoung says. Somehow the words seem more genuine from her mouth than from anyone else who’s said it to her lately. “It was an awful thing to happen to anyone. I wish I’d been there.”

Minghao curls her fingers into fists. “I’m glad you weren’t.”

Sometimes she can still hear Titan Pacific going down, the sob of metal, the interjection of the ocean into the conpod. They had lain in the water for nearly half an hour until the Jumphawks had reached them. All the while, Junhui’s thoughts spun like stray tops, skittering into the dark.

 _If we never touch land again,_ Minghao had thought there in the ocean’s vise, _will it have been worth it?_

“I’m glad you weren’t there,” she repeats, more firmly. “If we did one good thing, it was keeping you all safe.”

Soonyoung stays silent for just a moment before nudging her shoulder. “Next time I’ll be there for you. I’ll have a Jaeger of my own as soon as I find a partner.” Minghao takes the words how they’re meant, which is kindly. Soonyoung always means kindly.

“Already picked out a name?” Minghao asks. 

“Not yet,” Soonyoung says. “Chan said no to Hurricane Tiger but I'm still going to pitch it to my future partner."

Minghao hides her wince and leans back to look at the ceiling. “Well, good luck.”

“Thank you,” Soonyoung says. “Do you know how long you're here for?” _How long are you grounded for,_ Soonyoung means. Minghao weighs the question.

Theoretically she’s here for as long as she wants to be. As long as she comes in for regular check ups, the PPDC has given her a surprisingly long leash. There’s nothing keeping Minghao in Hong Kong. And yet, she’s strangely certain—she won’t be leaving any time soon.

“At least two weeks,” Minghao replies. “Maybe more.”

“Then you’ll be in time to catch Seokmin’s trials,” Soonyoung says. “I mean. Uh.”

Minghao closes her eyes a second. “Don’t worry, Seokmin told me they were happening soon.”

“Did she tell you I’m helping with them?” Soonyoung asks.

“No she didn’t. Are you a candidate?” Minghao asks, too quick. She swallows. “I mean…”

“I am,” Soonyoung hums. “I don’t think I’m the one she’ll choose though. Not that her first choice is available.” She shoots a look at Minghao. The whole gesture is nearly diplomatic, coming from Soonyoung.

Minghao’s mouth twists in on itself. “You don’t have to dance around it. Chan told me before I left that everyone expected we’d be assigned together.”

The catwalk rattles as Soonyoung scoots closer to her, resting her head on Minghao’s shoulder. “What happened?” she asks. “The two of you seemed like a sure thing.”

“I don’t know,” Minghao says. This is a lie. “I’m not sure what I could have done.” This is a truth. She’s wondered a lot these past few months, what might have happened if she said something differently. If she had turned to Seokmin beneath the dim comfort of their shared blankets and asked—

“What does it matter, anyway? She’ll find someone, I’m sure of it.”

Soonyoung knocks her head into Minghao’s shoulder, warm. “I’ve trained a lot of potential pilots, you know. Every single one of her potential partners went through my Kwoon Room. There are good candidates in this batch, but none of them are you.”

“What does that mean?” Minghao asks, heart rabbiting.

“I mean,” at this, Soonyoung takes her head off of Minghao’s shoulder to look her in the eyes. “People thought you’d be assigned together because you acted like pilots already. No one else has come close.”

There’s an uncomfortable feeling eating at Minghao’s stomach like acid. “Why did you recommend Junhui then?”

“You needed the challenge,” Soonyoung returns. Far below them, shouting ensues around the half-complete Jaeger as another plate of metal is raised into place. “I thought you’d be good for each other, and you were, weren’t you?” Satisfaction curls through her words, though Minghao can’t figure out what exactly it’s directed towards. Soonyoung has always been like this, easy to please and yet still enigmatic. Motivation so transparent it renders itself invisible.

“I’m better for knowing him,” is all Minghao says in the end. “Thank you.”

Soonyoung smiles. Minghao doesn’t have to look to see it, the gesture is in her voice. “You should come visit me some time, they assigned me to the training grounds here. Hong Kong got a lot of the latest batch of graduates. Hansol and Jeonghan come by sometimes.”

Minghao tips her head back at the ceiling. “Maybe.”

“Think about it,” Soonyoung says. Kind to the last. Minghao blinks hard. “We miss you.”

“I bet you say that to all the Kodiak graduates,” Minghao says.

“No,” Soonyoung says. “Just the ones I like.”

Minghao pushes her off her shoulder. “Will Seokmin be there?” She’s not sure what answer she’s hoping for.

“Maybe,” Soonyoung says, giving into the shove easily. “You’ll have to come and see for yourself.”

_**2016** _

Two cadets drop out in the second week of training. As if they were a sign, six more drop the next week. Then five. Then twelve.

By the eighth month of training, their class of more than two hundred is reduced down to sixty. Minghao keeps count of the days; they have little more than a year before they will be expected to slay monsters.

That month is also when training gets a little more interesting.

“Congratulations,” Officer Wu tells them. They’re outside the dorms, a gaggle of cadets in multicolored parkas, all shivering in the weak winter sunlight. “You’ve made it past officer training. From now on, all of you officially qualify for placements in the PPDC no matter if you become rangers or not.”

She gestures for them to follow her. “So far we’ve focused on combat training, k-science, and j-tech. Today, you’re going to be introduced to something a little more interesting. You could call it a practical demonstration.” She looks over her shoulder and sends them a small smile.

They’ve come to a stop next to the massive hangar to the north of the compound, clustered around the small access door in one of the walls. The grey building is mountainous, even against the Alaskan horizon, where snowy teeth are set into the jawbone of the world. Officer Wu pushes the door open and beckons them in. “Today, you’re going to see the Jaegers.”

A murmur sweeps through the gathered cadets like wind through a field of grass. Minghao shifts on her feet.

There had been rumors about the seeing them for months; access to the hangar was forbidden, but every cadet knows how to peer out of the dorm at night, and watch the Jaegers being transported to and from Kodiak’s icy embrace.

“Single file,” Officer Wu tells them as they walk through the door. “Stay within the marked lines.”

Minghao takes a deep breath as she steps through the doorway. The air here feels sharper somehow, metallic as it hits the back of her throat.

And then she’s through, into the hangar, and the air leaves her entirely. In front of her stand giants.

Two Jaegers dominate one side of the hangar, a third in the process of construction hangs across from them in pieces. Bodies of painted metal tower nearly to the ceiling—Minghao feels like a bug, the entirety of her body reduced down to a grain of sand. The room is well lit, concrete floors and walls with exposed metal beaming.

Kodiak’s Jaegers are charged with protecting the entirety of the western seaboard, from Alaska to Cabo San Lucas. This has been true ever since the first Jaeger-Kaiju fight outside of Vancouver. There are rumors of more Shatterdomes being established, but until they are, Kodiak is all they have.

Minghao had watched live when Brawler Yukon took on Karloff and humanity had, for the first time since Trespasser crashed into San Francisco, won a fight against a Kaiju without nuclear weapons. When that first punch landed on Karloff’s jaw, she had thought the echos might cross the entire Pacific. 

Here in the hangar, Brawler Yukon seems even larger than Minghao had imagined. _If it had been in Anshan…_ but the thought is pointless, and painful besides. Minghao puts it aside.

When she finally tears her eyes away, it’s to see Seokmin staring up at the Jaegers with a similar amount of awe. “They’re so big,” she says, echoing Minghao’s thoughts.

“Incredible,” Minghao agrees. “I never expected we’d see them up close.”

“We’re training to be pilots,” Seokmin laughs. “Did you think you’d never get in a Jaeger of your own?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?” Minghao tells her, only half joking. She’s always worked hard to achieve her dreams, equal parts self-confidence and bull-headed determination, but Jaegers seem less like a dream and more like a miracle.

When Brawler Yukon rose out of the Pacific, Minghao had still been living with one of her aunts in her cramped Tianjin apartment, waking every day to a screaming match from the newly married Wangs, three doors down. It had been 66 meters of solid steel, taller than the entire apartment building.

Imagine taking on a Kaiju and _winning._

“Yeah, I would,” Seokmin tells her, like she can still hear Minghao’s disbelief, transmitted over a spotty WeChat connection. They had called weekly, only missing a day when Minghao traveled back to Anshan to deal with the funeral arrangements. Every Friday, without fail. “You better start imagining it now. What will you do when you get your assignment?”

“I don’t know,” Minghao says, perhaps a little too truthfully. It comes out around Seokmin, the urge to tell her anything, unroll history like an endless scroll and run her finger down the edges. “I guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

“I thought you had everything planned out already,” Seokmin says. “Xu Minghao, a ten-year plan, a house on the ocean and everything.”

“Living near the ocean isn’t exactly practical right now,” Minghao returns. Something tugs at the corner of her mouth, she’s not sure whether it’s a smile or a frown.

Seokmin’s face falls. Minghao kicks herself. “Hey, that’s why we’re here, right? To become pilots. To protect the coastline.”

“Yeah,” Seokmin says. She takes a measured breath then asks, “What do you see when you look at a Jaeger?”

“What do you mean?” Minghao asks in return, thrown by the abrupt question.

The curve of her smile is resolute, near burning. Seokmin turns to look up at Brawler Yukon. “I mean, what are you picturing? When I look at a Jaeger, I think about how many people we might have been able to save, if there had been one in San Francisco. How many families might still be together.” She looks over at Minghao. “What do you see? I see hope.”

Minghao’s chest constricts. Seokmin’s earnestness like a vise. “Yeah,” is all she gets out. She’s about to say more when—

“Xu! Lee! Come on.” The call comes from far in front of them, Officer Wu waving. Minghao snaps to attention, suddenly aware that the rest of the cadets are meters away and still walking. Officer Wu doesn’t look mad though, just expectant.

She’s Minghao’s favorite trainer, the only one who speaks to them in Mandarin. She doesn’t pay Minghao any special favors, but neither does she need to. It is enough to hear her name in someone else’s mouth, alive again.

“Yes officer.” She nods, sending another glance towards Brawler Yukon as she walks away. _Hope, huh?_

At the other end of the hangar, Officer Wu gathers them all next to the Jaeger in the process of being built. Beside her is a tall man with close cropped hair and dark skin. Minghao has heard of him before. Stacker Pentecost, another one of the PPDC’s burgeoning legends.

He was one of Coyote Tango’s pilots, and had halted Onibaba’s rampage through Tokyo just three months ago, had fought against Itak just a month after that. Now he’s standing here, steelspined. Minghao steps a bit closer to Seokmin, shaking her shoulder. “That’s…” she trails off, trusting Seokmin to pick up on the rest.

“I know,” Seokmin whispers back. She’s a little frozen, just staring at him. Minghao wants to vibrate out of her skin.

“Cadets, this is Stacker Pentecost. He is here to talk to you about piloting, and to give you another announcement.” Officer Wu steps back and Pentecost steps forward.

The cadets murmur as Pentecost looks out over them. Minghao’s posture straightens out involuntarily in response to his gaze. He doesn’t have to say anything for the group to quiet on its own. Respect, around Pentecost, feels like second nature.

“Cadets.” His voice is serious, solid as tamped earth. “I am Marshal Stacker Pentecost. You may have heard of me, you may have not. I was the pilot of Coyote Tango.

"You are nearly one third the way through the academy. You are almost rangers. I am not here to tell you what that means to you. I am here to tell you about what it means to me.”

The cadets cluster around him. Minghao looks to her left and sees Seokmin growing stiffer by the moment; she reaches out to take her hand. Seokmin starts and looks down before relaxing.

“I will spare you the details of my posting before the PPDC.” Pentecost’s eyes are steady. “There is not a person among you all who does not know of what it takes to be standing where you are. You have all chosen, no matter the reason, to put yourselves through this training. Being a ranger means getting up every day and putting in your work. To keep moving no matter the hardships you face.

“You may have heard the news that Coyote Tango’s pilots have retired after our fight against Itak. This is not a rumor. Coyote Tango is no longer operable. As of two months ago, I am no longer a ranger. My new assignment is here in Kodiak to teach you all how to become rangers yourselves.” He dips his head, just a little. Regal. “That is all.”

At his last word, it is as if air rushes back into the room.

Later, in one of the dorm’s common rooms, Minghao and some of the cadets cluster around a laptop replaying Coyote Tango’s fight with Onibaba.

News helicopters had caught the last half of the battle, as Onibaba tore its way through Shinagawa on its way to Shibuya. The news footage is shaky, cameras zoomed in as the helicopters circled high above the fight, but still clear enough to follow. Minghao remembers seeing it on the news months ago, Onibaba’s ugly body like a mutated crab, complete with demonic pincers.

Seokmin winces as Coyote Tango takes a blow to the side of the head from a claw. The Jaeger stumbles a second before punching back. “Is that a dent in the conn pod?”

By her side, Hansol winces as well. They’re curled up on a couch together, Hansol’s head on Seokmin’s shoulder. Minghao is sitting on the couch’s back, legs on Seokmin’s other side.

“Coyote Tango was an older model,” Chan observes from farther away. She’s on the floor near Jeonghan’s feet. “It was, the second to last of the Mark I’s. I heard they didn't even have radiation shielding. No wonder…” She doesn’t finish the sentence.

Minghao stays silent, watching as Coyote Tango plows through a building on screen. Shattered glass rains down like hail.

“What happened to his partner?” Jeonghan asks, voicing what they’re all thinking. He’s the last of their group, sitting in a nearby chair. Soonyoung sometimes joined them, but she had PPDC business today.

“No one knows,” Chan tells him. Her face is unusually solemn, fingers tapping on her knees. “None of the major news outlets even knew Marshal Pentecost wasn’t a pilot anymore.”

Minghao feels something tightening behind her ribs, fear stitching her capillaries into lace. She knows of no good answer to Jeonghan’s question.

Rangers have never retired before. Rangers have also not existed for more than a year. Brawler Yukon is new enough that its paint is still shiny. Minghao has never had to contemplate what happens after graduation—after she gets in a Jaeger—because that future has not existed for long.

It’s like Seokmin said. She’d better start imagining it now.

“I hope they’re ok,” Seokmin says. Minghao runs an absentminded hand around the back of her neck, fingers carding through her hair. She feels it when Seokmin shivers. “We all knew that Coyote Tango was damaged, but I didn’t think it was bad enough for them to retire.”

Jeonghan looks serious again. “The funeral for Tacit Ronin’s pilots was only a month ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if they kept the news of their retirement secret because of that.”

Tacit Ronin. Japan’s other Jaeger, whose pilots were killed in combat after Coyote Tango went down trying to hold Yokohama.

Very quietly, Minghao comes to the realization that her future will involve pine boxes and solemn letters sent to her remaining family members. It’s a thought she’s had before, but never with this intensity. This surety. She takes a deep breath, detangling her fingers from Seokmin’s hair.

Seokmin looks back at her, a question in her eyes, and Minghao’s heart abruptly freezes. Goes still as an arctic night. _Pilots,_ she thinks, the rest of the thought coming to her in slow motion, _are often buried together._

“I’ve got to go, I just realized I left something in the Kwoon Room.” Minghao flips her legs around to the other side of the couch and picks up her bag. It’s a flimsy excuse at best, but no one questions it.

Seokmin nods, an absent smile thrown her way. “Ok. Are you coming back in time for dinner?”

Minghao pauses. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“We’ll save you a plate,” Seokmin says, but Minghao is already halfway out the door.

She doesn’t come back until nightfall. When she does, she sleeps in her own bed.

**Author's Note:**

> additional content warnings: one of the first (italicized) scenes depicts a cremation. let me know if you think anything else should be warned for.
> 
> spot the siken reference! (i'm so sorry the summary snippet isn't in this chapter , i promise, soon!)
> 
> if you enjoyed this, i'd loved it if left kudos/comments <3


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